Bad Excuses
by Pereybere
Summary: Brennan and Booth are using work stress as an excuse to get naughty.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Bad Excuses

**Rating: **M rated here and MA rated on my website

**Summary: **Brennan and Booth are using work stress as an excuse to get naughty.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this story. No infringement intended!

**A/N: **Hey guys! It's been awhile since I last posted anything here. This story also has an MA rated version which you can find on my new website for Bones fan-fiction only. Click on my profile to view the URL. May I recommend if you want to read the MA version you just go there now, so you don't have to re-read the whole thing for the explicit portion.

What they were doing was wrong.

Perhaps not wrong... but certainly not _right_. Morally, their actions were desperately lacking and her conscience was poking its nose in with infuriating persistence. Surprisingly, his conscience seemed to have been lulled into a deep slumber. Unlike his raging hormones.

"Are you alright?" Booth asked, running his fingertips along her side, delighted at the layer of goosebumps that rose over her smooth flesh. Despite her body's immediate reaction to his touch, Brennan kept her eyes fixed on the ceiling above their heads. She did not answer.

The bedroom smelt heady of sex, of multiple orgasms, perspiration, endorphins... pure, unending pleasure. With each inhalation, her lungs filled with their scent. He was already aroused again. Even without looking, without touching, she recognised the feral glint in his hooded eyes. Like a panther, his long limbs stretched with languid ease, his sinewy muscles rippling. It was his powerful physique that got her into this situation time and time again.

Closing her eyes she turned her head away from him, pressing her thighs together. Despite her best efforts and good intentions, her clitoris had a mind of its own. Dropping her arm over her face, hiding the blush of adolescent innocence that crept along her cheeks when she caught the scent of her growing arousal, Brennan stifled a groan.

He had said she shouldn't have worn the black dress.

Of course Brennan had chosen it because she knew exactly how he'd respond to her bare shoulders and the rare glimpse of her legs. She hadn't worn stockings, either.

Bare shoulders, bare legs and the tempting peep-toe stilettos. Black tie dinners were such a pain in the ass – and she ought to have known better than to spice up the monotony by driving Seeley Booth wild.

Games like that only ended badly. And by badly, she meant so good.

Brennan opened her eyes.

"Are we still blaming this on the 'Widow's Son' case?" Booth asked, repositioning the rumpled, sex-scented sheet over his crotch. She was glad because in the corner of her vision, try as she might to block it out, she could see his penis – hard and ready. Again.

"That's what it is," she insisted weakly, the pulse between her thighs stepping up a notch. "Everyone is feeling the pressure." Booth's eyebrows rose in sceptical disbelief. His dark hair stood on end from where her fingers had desperately tugged when his tongue had been exploring her body.

"You didn't seem very stressed at the dinner last night," he commented, stretching again. The sheet slipped and she swallowed. She'd been as equally feral the night before – if not more so. Wild and uninhibited, Brennan distinctly recalled several demands she'd made upon him – writhing beneath his thorough attentions.

"I hide it well," she snapped, sitting. "I'm starting to feel cheap."

His hand shifted over her back and she pursed her lips.

"You _are_ cheap," he murmured, closing his mouth over her spine. She arched her back, whether in pleasure or to detach herself she wasn't entirely sure. "Three drinks and you were _mine_." Brennan's cheeks burned fiercely. Three drinks? She was his even when she was completely sober.

Brushing aside her hair, he knelt behind her, running the tip of his tongue along the back of her neck. Despite her best efforts, she whimpered helplessly, digging her nails into the mattress. She was already wet when his hand moved between her thighs, his fingers slipping into her with a precise stroke. This was the thing about Booth, she thought, parting her legs; he was just too good.

She was so wet – her body traitorously immersing itself in his touch. His thumb stroked her clit in slow, tender circles and a moan rose in her throat despite her best efforts to quell it. It always happened like this... Booth teasing and manipulating her body – finding the sensitive and responsive spots and driving her wild.

Two fingers flexed inside her and her walls turned to liquid, squeezing instinctively around him. Leaning over her, Booth drew her nipple into his mouth – sucking as

hard as he could, his tongue flicking over the hardened nub. She whimpered, her hips rising from the bed.

Booth was an expert at these things. She had no idea where he had acquired such an intimate and familiar knowledge of female anatomy – and how to arouse it – but she had no complaints, either.

Releasing her nipple, his tongue drew a path over her breast, along her ribs and over her navel. Fiery determination flashed in his eyes as he glanced up at her from underneath his lashes. His stubble scratched her thighs and she breathed a sound somewhere between his name and a plea. She knew what was coming... of course she did. Her fingers curled, gripping the sex-scented sheets in tight fists.

This, she knew, was the reason why she kept coming back for more.

And more. And more.

Brennan squirmed as his lips caressed her inner thigh, his tongue darting out to taste her arousal. Her legs parted and she uncurled one hand from the sheet to sink into his sleep-tousled hair. Temperance Brennan was not afraid to ask for – or demand – what she wanted.

But then, neither was he.

The thing about her 'relationship' with Booth was that they were so sexually compatible. He knew how to pleasure her and, judging by the way he came the night before, she was equally able.

His tongue rolled over her and as he flicked her gently, Brennan sighed, her hips rising again as she prayed he'd put her out of her blissful misery and suck. The teasing, the torture, were all part of the delicious game he played. Tugging on his hair, she drew him away from her.

"I want you inside," she commanded with a kitten-like purr. But there was nothing cute and cuddly about her and he knew better than to disobey. Although he didn't see any harm in prolonging her agony – and his.

His mouth danced slowly over her skin, across the belly, pausing to draw a moist circle around her bellybutton. Lavishing attention upon her breasts, his arousal increased at the way in which her blue eyes had darkened to a smoky navy. Brennan wrapped her legs around him, pressing her heels, urging him to thrust inside her.

She was so wet against him, her flesh malleable to his penis. Her passage opened easily, permitting him access and as always, Booth didn't quite want the moment to end. Her back arched and their fingers entwined.

Once completely sheathed by her, his body stiffened but he did not move. A prickle of perspiration slid along his spine, and the scent of sex was stronger now. He breathed it in, an aphrodisiac on its own.

"Move, Booth," Brennan begged, squeezing her walls around him. His thrusts were slow at first as he revelled in the sensation of having her so tightly around him. With each whimper that fell from her lips, his movements increased. Her nails dug crescents into his back – his shoulders – anywhere that her hands fell upon. She matched him, thrust for thrust.

He reminded himself that it was Saturday and that later, he was going to try to take things slowly – tenderly.

Burying himself as deeply as he could, he felt her fingers slide between their bodies to touch her clitoris. She pressed hard upon the bud, her body stiffening as her muscles tightened around his penis. Her mouth opened in a silent cry. He watched as she shuddered beneath him, her womb flooding with hot wetness.

"Christ," he sighed, astounded at the intensity of her orgasm. Her body continued to tremble, long after her the waves of pleasure had subsided. With each thrust she still whimpered in helpless delight. His own orgasm started in his groin, hot and tingling. Looking at her, lying beneath him, damp and sated, he came inside her, closing his eyes against the force of it.

At first he did not move.

His arms barely supported his weight over her and yet, he was unable to convince his limbs to shift. Beneath him, she wriggled and he slipped out of her body.

"Where are you going?" he asked as she began searching on the floor for her underwear.

"I'm getting dressed. It's getting late."

The coldness had returned and he loathed it.

"Bones... don't." Sitting on the edge of the bed, she stiffened somewhat. Her breathing still ragged. "Why are we doing this? And _don't_ lie."

She clipped her bra – a lacy black one – in place, adjusting the cups over her breasts. On the floor, the black dress that had been his undoing, lay in a pile of crumpled

chiffon. "I don't know," she sighed guiltily. "It should stop." As she began to rise, he snatched her wrist.

"No it shouldn't," he replied harshly, angered by her indifference. "We should stop referring to it as 'just sex', Brennan." Pulling on his own clothes, tried to curb his anger – his infuriation at her. She looked at him from behind her tousled locks, her eyes hiding the truth in her emotions. She was getting too good at that.

"What is it, Booth? What is this if it isn't just sex? You come to me after a tough day, fuck me and then leave in the morning. It _is_ just sex. And frankly, I'm nothing but an underpaid hooker." As though she had slapped him, his eyes went wide and his lips parted.

"How _can_ you?" he hissed. "I thought... I always thought you _knew_." Understanding the pointlessness in his argument, he shrugged his shoulders. "I guess you didn't." Since they'd started sharing a bed, his feelings for her had increased immeasurably. He thought of her in ways he hadn't allowed himself to think of a woman since Rebecca. "An underpaid hooker?" he echoed, shaking his head.

"Booth..." she began, riddled with guilt.

"No!" he snapped, buckling his pants. "I get it, Bones."

All this time her reluctance wasn't in giving him her emotions – it was because she felt dirty.

"I'll see you on Monday," he added, snatching his keys from where they had landed on the floor the night before.

She tried to stop him. She opened her mouth but the words that formed were trite and what she had said earlier was inexcusable – unforgivable. Covering her legs with her sheet, she waited several seconds, half expecting him to return – that feral, bedroom look in his eyes.

The front door slammed and she realised she was alone.

Several seconds later, she realised she'd misjudged the entire situation.

"Fuck," she murmured.

-End-

Does anyone want to see Brennan and Booth reconcile?


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Bad excuses

**Rating: **This chapter is T, the first is M and the MA version is on – coming chapters will be M/MA rated.

**Disclaimer: **These characters are not mine. They'd have been taken off the air, if I were responsible for them!

**Author's Note: **Thanks to everyone who has come to the website to read my MA rated fic! It's excellent to know that people everywhere are as smutty minded as me. I hope you like this chapter and maybe I will play it out a little while longer :)

She had been avoiding him – spending a tremendous amount of effort to put his wounded expression from her mind. Not that it was working well. Brennan had kick-boxed her way into achy limbs and still, the look on his face when she'd degraded his "feelings" for her played vividly in her mind's eye. 

What she felt most guilty about was the fact that she was out-of-control horny. She wanted to draw him back into her bed because he was a spectacular lover and frankly, she missed him. It had only been a day. 

Pouring herself a glass of iced tea, Brennan realised that in the months that had been passing, their sex sessions had increased dramatically. From once a week, on really difficult days, to almost any opportunity they could get. Like the basement at the Jeffersonian.

Admittedly that couldn't be classed as full sex. But Booth called it the best blowjob of his life and even the memory of it – of the intensity of his orgasm and the guttural way in which he moaned her name, she was aroused. The knowledge of their sexual compatibility made her feel rotten inside. How could she have destroyed the best thing she'd had in years. Maybe ever. 

Brennan squeezed a wedge of lemon between her fingers, the bitter juice dripping over the back of her hand as she absently tore at the acidic yellowy flesh. Lifting her hand, she closed her lips over the rivulet of juice and sucked it away.

_I am such an idiot_, she reflected miserably. Booth wasn't going to give her a second thought now that she had bruised his ego by rebuking him – by pushing him away. Why did she have such a self-destructive nature? When things were going good... _really_ good, what did she think? Time to shit upon it?

Emptying her glass, she tossed the lemon slice inside and tore her fingers through her hair, wincing at the aching pain that shot through her shoulder and along her neck. After kick-boxing this had happened once before. On that day, Booth had massaged her muscles so thoroughly that she'd felt like she was made of liquid. Then he'd made love to her with such tenderness that she'd been unable to summon the energy to move for almost an hour after.

How royally had she fucked things up, now?

An underpaid hooker? How could she be so vulgar... so uncaring in her approach. She'd always known Booth to be a noble man. A gentleman in the truest most old-fashioned sense of the word. He respected women, he never cheated.

He pulled her chair back for her to sit in a restaurant. 

"Argh!" she snapped, forced to massage her own neck. Brennan contemplated calling Angela but she knew that her best friend would be horrified at the way in which she'd reacted to the situation. Ange saw sex – sex in any form – as good. There was no such thing as guilt when it came to the art of seduction, love making and fucking. 

Every time she looked at her friend she had that look in her eye. The one that indicated she and Jack Hodgins had been hiding out in the period exhibitions. Perhaps she ought to have taken a leaf out of Angela's very open-minded book. 

But Angela loved Jack. They were together for personality, for humour and good times. She and Booth... they spent time together because she liked the way he made love to her. It was purely physical and although she'd never been a woman to deny herself physical satisfaction, or the occasional one night stand, she felt as though she were somehow cheating herself every time she ended up in bed with him.

She was losing her ability to look at things objectively. She was developing feelings for Booth and they scared her. Since Michael, Brennan had intentionally closed off her emotions. Maybe she'd opened her heart a little bit with Sully – but mostly, that was just sex too. Booth... he was something else altogether.

She supposed that was why they were using work and stress as an excuse for their actions. By analysing things, they ran the risk of their agreement becoming... what it had. A mess.

Now they could very well have damaged their working relationship too. The very structure from which everything else evolved. How would they effect the team? Now her head was starting to hurt, too. Sex would cure all her ailments.

She needed to sleep – push the thoughts of her own idiocy from her mind. Tomorrow, she'd have to see him again. Cullen was coming to the Jeffersonian, interested in seeing the Gormagon vault and while no one on the team was particularly pleased about it, Cullen had the power to squeeze his way in.

Dressing quickly in an old university t-shirt and a pair of socks – because it was still frightfully cold at night – Brennan got into bed and wished she'd bought a TV for her bedroom. A movie or a reality show to drown out the din of her own thoughts. She'd never been a fan of television, really. As much as it was sometimes pleasurable to delve into fantasy – watch horror safe in the knowledge that you were in no danger – there was still something so unintelligent in half the concepts on television these days.

She half-heartedly eyed a paperback on her dresser, knowing that she'd never be able to concentrate. 

In the end, she flicked off the light and nestled down into the pillows. The sheets hadn't been washed and there was still a smell. That smell. The scent of pleasure. 

It was an eternity before she slept.

* * *

"We need to talk," Brennan said as Booth swiped his security pass. He'd perfected an expression of cool indifference – perfect suit and tie, coffee in one hand, sunglasses tucked into his shirt, immaculate hair and a tight, professional smile. She hated it.

"Not now, Bones, busy day ahead." Deputy Director Cullen was talking with Camille, a frown of concentration marring his forehead. Brennan knew this look only too well – a mixture of fascination and annoyance. Cullen didn't 'get' the Squints. He found them to be almost otherworldly. Cam was the best they had in people skills and if she was failing to impress, it was going to be a bad day for everyone else. "Sir?" Booth called, gesturing to his boss. "The vault is this way." 

Camille shared a look with Brennan. 

"He's a difficult man," she whispered, slipping her hands into her pocket. "I don't think he likes me." Brennan nodded.

"He doesn't. He thinks were morons." She watched Booth, calm and confident and felt a wave of arousal course through her body. Something needed to be resolved and it was just typical that he wasn't in the mood for talking – or for hearing her apologies. "I'll be in my office, if anyone needs me." 

Passing Angela with a brief 'good morning', Brennan felt an emotion that she hadn't allowed herself to experience in a long time. Moving far beyond lust, she actually felt saddened at the breakdown in her relationship with Booth. If it were just sex, she knew there'd be no remorse, no emotion involved. 

Unlocking her office door, she thought about Dr Sweets. He'd been pleased with their progress in recent weeks. He said they were communicating more... if only he knew how much more they were communicating. She groaned, envisioning their next appointment. As much as she hated to admit it, Sweets had a certain amount of talent... whatever... when it came to making what he called 'educated guesses'. He'd recognise the shift in their relationship in a minute.

Shaking her head, she sat behind her desk and opened the drawer. Amidst her pens, staples, post-it notes, paperclips and tacks, she found the little Brainy Smurf. White hat and big black glasses, she recalled the humiliation she'd felt in as a gangly adolescent. Booth saw it as a compliment, and since he'd given her the little plastic toy, she'd thought so too. Her intelligence was something he respected in her – even if he sometimes made jokes about it.

She turned the figurine over in her fingers, running her thumb over the smooth white hat. 

How could she have believed anything between her and Booth would ever be 'just sex'? Suddenly she understood why Booth hadn't felt guilty about it as she had expected he would; As far as he was concerned, they were sharing something more. 

"I'm such an idiot," she murmured – for the first time in her life, believing it. 

"Dr Brennan?" Zach tapped his knuckles against her door. He'd changed so much since obtaining his doctorate and she was so proud to have him work alongside her. Sometimes she felt as though Zach was the only person in the world who understood social awkwardness and the perpetual cluelessness that intellects were lost in. "Deputy Director Cullen is looking for you. Should I tell him you're busy?" He glanced down at the Smurf in her hand then back at her. 

"No," she replied, placing the toy on its feet beneath her computer monitor. Somewhere around her desk, there was also a little pig – another gift from Booth. Why were things only starting to become clear, now? "I'll be there in a minute," she told Zach. "Offer him some coffee, would you?" 

"Yes, Dr Brennan."

Inhaling a deep breath, she ran her hands over her face and stood. Once today was over, and Cullen had satisfied his curiosity and the bored bureaucrats who had no doubt made his visit mandatory, she'd corner Booth, swallow her pride and apologise. And maybe, if she was really lucky, salvage their relationship.

-End-

There will be more smut soon! I was thinking of writing another chapter for _One Night_ what do you think? Let me know!


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Bad Excuses

**Rating: **T for this chapter but M and MA for previous and subsequent which can be viewed on my site. 

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. Nothing's changed since this morning.

**Author's Note: **Thanks for all the positive feedback guys. I'm glad you like this and I hope you'll continue to read. 

Sam Cullen left just after midday, satisfied that the members of the Jeffersonian were doing their best. No one liked having a serial killer on the loose – especially when it was getting harder to keep the media off the scent. He still looked distressed as he bid them goodbye. 

As the doors breezed shut behind him, Seeley Booth allowed himself to relax for the first time since morning. Having his superior watching his every move so closely had left him wound tighter than a damn jack-in-the-box. He rolled his shoulders, raking his fingers through his hair. Once Cullen had disappeared from sight, all memory of him did too and Booth turned his thoughts to Temperance Brennan.

He'd been unable to get her out of his head since the second the door had closed behind him on Saturday morning. He wondered if maybe he'd been overly harsh. After all, he hadn't given her any official indication that he thought their relationship was more than just sex. But then she knew him. _She_ knew _him_, and she ought to have been more than aware of his beliefs about casual sex. He didn't do it. He never had.

Not even with a woman as beautiful as desirable as herself. 

Booth had enjoyed their friskiness, the flirty glances across the lab, and Lord, he enjoyed the sex. But more than that, he enjoyed their conversations. Since developing a sexual relationship, Brennan talked more. They both did, in fact. He found himself being more open, less defensive and obnoxious when she said something he was offended by. In fact he'd started to find the differences in their beliefs somehow refreshing.

It hurt like hell when she degraded that by calling herself a hooker. 

Shifting his gaze, he stood motionless by the electronic doors, watching her as she leant over a weathered skeleton, her fingers curled around the edge of the steel-gurney. She'd pulled her coppery hair back into a ponytail and the tendrils had fallen over her shoulder, revealing the smooth column of her neck. He shifted, closing his eyes and inhaling an unsteady breath into his lungs.

That was the thing about Brennan, he thought. As much as she'd hurt him, he wondered if it wasn't just part of her social inability to recognise what was not suitable conversation and he felt almost endeared by the possibility – which was dangerous. To his heart. He couldn't let her get away with rude, abrasive, inconsiderate comments just because he was trying to justify it. 

She sensed his eyes on her and lifted her head, looking him too quickly for him to turn away. Almost immediately, Brennan tore off her latex gloves, tossing them aside. She moved swiftly, descending the stairs towards him with definite intent. He remembered that earlier she'd wanted to talk and he'd brushed her aside using Cullen as an excuse. 

"I'm late to pick up Parker," he said at once, rummaging in his pocket for his keys. Brennan tilted her head, one eyebrow raised in sceptic disbelief.

"It's Monday. You don't have Parker on Mondays," she told him. He knew that she'd detect his lie at once. It was getting harder to fool her, now.

"I didn't think that was the kind of knowledge that unpaid hookers had about their clients," Booth snapped briskly and she recoiled, her cheeks staining pink under the florescent lights. She had a stricken look of horror, similar to his when she'd coldly told him what she truly thought of their intimate relationship. "Was it money I was supposed to give you Brennan? See, I was thinking companionship, humour, tenderness..." 

"Please," she sighed, lifting her hands. "Booth... _please_." Her eyes filled, tears hovering on her lower lashes. Brennan was too proud to cry – to lose control of her strength, and she wiped at her eyes harshly. "You don't know what was going on in my head. I over-reacted. I-"

"You never _told_ me," Booth whispered harshly. She scoffed.

"What was I supposed to say, Booth? I want more than this? I'm not fulfilled with 'just sex'? From what I've been told, asking a man for commitment is _not_ considered an attractive feature in a woman. I've heard suffocating used. I've heard pressurising used. _Never _attractive." Booth stepped back, glaring down at her, his jaw working as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. 

"I'm not those other guys, Bones! If you don't know that already, then _what_ have we been doing? What kind of man do you think I am?" His question left her breathless and deeply ashamed. His expression was grim, filled with disappointment. Even without speaking, she had managed to hurt him again. He shook his head slowly. "I really do have to go." His voice was distant, kept gruff and low. 

"Aren't we going to talk about this?" Brennan asked, having regained control of her voice and her tears. She was fully composed once again. "You're just going to walk off because I said _one_ thing that you didn't like? And you're telling me I should be open about wanting a relationship? Something tells me it wouldn't be very solid." He dropped his head back, opening his mouth and groaning loudly. She watched his Adam's apple as it bobbed on his throat. 

"You just keep making it worse, don't you, Bones?" She almost stamped her foot in frustration.

"What do you want me to say?" she asked, irritated that her best attempts to smooth things out had only made things worse.

"How about 'I'm sorry'. Just sorry, Bones. No boneheaded excuses because you know what they are? _Bad_ excuses. This whole thing has been a bunch of bullshit excuses from the beginning." She had that stricken look again. It had been a long time since he'd been so cold and stand-offish with her. When they'd been sleeping together, Booth had been almost tender. Understanding. Open. Never like this. 

"Is everything okay here?" 

They both turned to face Camille, whose eyes danced from one to the other, a frown of perplexity marring her pretty features. Hands in her pockets, she cast her authority without ever speaking it aloud. Brennan hadn't realised how loudly they'd been talking and suddenly, she was very embarrassed. 

"Everything is fine, Camille," Booth told her slowly. "I was just leaving." 

"Leaving?" Brennan asked quickly, rolling her eyes. "Great. Just... great." She waved her hand dismissively and turned away. Her thick heels didn't make the same sound as Camille's killer stilettos on the concrete and she almost found herself petulantly wishing she could make a better exit. 

"Oh...kay," Cam turned to Booth. "Next time, keep your personal issues out of the lab, Seeley. Everyone likes to watch a drama unfold, and while they're watching your drama unfold, they aren't working." Suitably chastised, Booth sighed.

"Don't be a hard-ass bitch Cam. It really doesn't suit you." Removing her hands, she planted them on her hips and gave him the glare, the hard-eyed glare which had always told him that he was in trouble. 

"And _don't_ get pissy with me just because you're having a bad time with Dr Brennan. Didn't you say you were leaving?" She tilted her head.

"Are you _throwing_ me _out_?" Booth asked, horrified. His fingers hurt from where the grooves of his car keys had been digging into his skin. He released them, realising that Cam had almost made him smile. She was smiling herself.

"Yes. Go. Before you cause anymore damage."

* * *

"Dr Brennan?" Camille tapped the door frame, stepping into her office without waiting on an invitation. "Is everything alright?" Brennan turned away from her desk, her expression stony and unreadable. 

"Everything is fine, Dr Saroyan."

Sometimes it felt as though maybe she were bridging the gap in the animosity between herself and Brennan. Sometimes she'd be open and almost friendly and in the next instant, she'd shut down. 

"Everyone knows what's been going on between you and Agent Booth," she said, diving right in. "For awhile back, he seemed happier than he'd been in a long time... and there's no one who knows him better than me. So if you want to talk about it..." Brennan cleared her throat.

"No offense, Dr Saroyan, but I'm pretty sure you're the last person I should talk to about Booth." Camille smiled, wondering where the woman got her tact from.

"Well, if you change your mind..."

-End-

There will be more. For now reviews please! 


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: **Bad Excuses

**Rating: **This is an M rated story. Don't forget the MA rated chapters of all my stories can be found at my website. Come join!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this story. They belong to various other, luckier people and I am just borrowing them. No infringement intended.

**Author's Note: **I know – it's been ages since I updated this story, as is the case with most of my Bones fics. I'm trying to make more of an effort to get some of them updated. I have been wanting to tackle Lost and Found for some time, but there's so much of it that I need to re-read before I can make an attempt at it. For now, I hope a smutty chapter of this story will suffice. Thanks for reading and don't forget to review.

* * *

"All right. I've changed my mind."

Camille's coffee cup stopped halfway to her lips and she looked up from her computer screen. Brennan hovered outside her office and she looked strangely defensive for a woman asking for help. Cam pressed her lips together as she struggled not to smile. "Come," she said at last, gesturing to the empty chairs facing her desk. "Sit." Temperance Brennan was an enigma and she could understand why men were so drawn to her. There was a desire to crack her – to work her out. Camille knew it would take a persistent man to get through.

"I'm not sure why I'm here," said Brennan, venturing into the office. "You had a sexual relationship with Booth and I feel I might be crossing a boundary here." Camille smirked, finally taking a sip of coffee.

"_Had_ being the operative word. Seeley and I had a fun relationship. There was never anything beyond it." Not the second time around, anyway. First time she'd wondered if maybe she'd fallen in love with him – and maybe she had. But in the same way it took a persistent man to love Brennan, persistence was definitely the order of the day as far as Booth was concerned. Camille had been far 

too interested in her career to play house with him. "We're friends now and I care about him." Brennan crossed her legs and she had that air of confidence that intimidated most. "Do you?"

"Do I what? Care about him?" Camille nodded. "Of course I care about him." Brennan spoke with a rushed, defensive tone – as though Cam were trying to discredit her work or pick fault in a conclusion she'd made about bones.

"Do you love him?" It surprised her that she didn't feel jealous at the prospect of Brennan being in love with her ex-boyfriend. In fact she felt almost relieved that he'd found someone. Temperance's blue eyes were wide and her expression frozen.

"I think it's too early to determine something like that. Love is a very complicated emotion." Ever analytical, Brennan found it difficult to reach out and grasp her feelings and accept them for what they were.

"Alright... do you think you _could_ love him?" she did not wait for Brennan to reply. "I ask because I think Booth has already went beyond that line. And if you don't feel the same about him, it's kinder to tell him outright. But I don't think that's the issue. I think you're just afraid to take a leap into a proper, official relationship so instead to content yourself with brief trysts."

Brennan was tempted to reveal that there was nothing 'brief' about her meetings with Booth. Most of the time he was slow, lingering and thorough. Sometimes frenzied yearning took control but even in their most desperate of instances, there was a tenderness in all his actions. Brennan felt her cheeks redden and she cleared her throat coyly. "Professional relationships turned personal are never good. It never ends well." Camille reclined back in her chair, shaking her head.

"When I was a cop I worked with a couple, Devon and Louise Redmond. They were partners and while working they bickered like cat and dog – bouncing opposing theories around, usually with carefully chosen and fairly colourful words. They were the two most stubborn minds I'd ever met. One night they held a dinner party for all the guys and in private, they complimented each other in ways I cannot explain. Their relationship was so loving and warm and their home was a proper home. They had two children – two little boys – and I had always wondered how those boys would feel with their mom and dad bickering so incessantly. Turns out, they never did. Once the clocked out, Devon and Louise were just normal people with a normal family.

"Truth is, Brennan, you can have that if you truly make the effort to have it. If you automatically think things won't work out... they won't." Brennan nodded slightly, absorbing the meaning of her words. Camille didn't tell her that during a bank robbery Louise had been shot and died on the spot. Or that Devon Redmond was a shell of his former self, giving up police-work entirely to look after his grief-stricken sons. Some things were better left unsaid. Bad enough that Brennan already thought all stories ended tragically. "I know for a fact that Booth goes swimming in the FBI pools on Mondays after work." The hint was there and Brennan seized it, getting to her feet.

"Thanks Cam," she said over her shoulder.

"Welcome Dr Brennan."

* * *

Brennan stood on the observation balcony that overlooked the crystalline pool below. The air was heavily scented with the sterile smell of chlorine. She wrinkled her nose, resting her forearms on the edging wall as she peered down. Six federal employees were using the pool, slicing through the water with steely determination – their movements fast and lucid. It was evident that they were all frequent users of the pool facility.

Booth was one of them, his sun-bronzed skin soaked and glistening, she was aroused upon sight. For a long time she stood and watched him swim, alternating his strokes for maximum workout. When he stood, droplets of chemically treated water cascaded over him and he shimmered under the florescent lights, lifting his arms to rake his fingers through his hair. When he did all his muscles flexed, perfectly taut and defined.

She smiled to herself, recalling how firm he felt when he was leaning over her – thrusting into her body with fierce determination. Between her thighs her clitoris throbbed of its own accord and she was momentarily distracted. Her attention came thundering back with a slender woman in a black swimsuit butterfly-stroked her way towards him. Even from the observation balcony, Brennan could see the look of want – desire – in the other woman's eyes. Jealousy flared as she willed Booth not to notice. He did, turning to the woman as she engaged him in flirtatious conversation. Suddenly it became evident that Brennan was not the only woman who had her eyes levelled on him. Several other, equally enthralled ladies did too.

Straightening her spine, Brennan stepped away from the railing. Damn any woman who thought she was going to step into her territory. Thankful that it was past eight she slipped into the empty locker room, sweeping her eyes across to the shower area. When, she wondered, had the FBI become so concerned with modesty? The showers were divided into small cubicles with stark white, plastic curtains that slid across on metal rails. Brennan stepped inside one, pulling the curtain across. She was thankful for her decision to go home and change before coming to find him – for if she had still been wearing her jeans she was certain they'd be soaked by the puddles of water on the tiled floor. The skirt she wore remained dry whilst her bare feet in the open-toe sandals she'd slipped on, were wet.

If she got caught here, in the men's locker room, Brennan was fairly sure she could be prosecuted for being a pervert. Could women _be_ perverts? she wondered, parting the curtain a little so she could peer out into the still empty room. Above her the shower-head dripped occasionally, planting fat droplets of water in her hair. After ten minutes she wondered if maybe he'd sneaked off with the busty brunette who'd found him in the pool.

Then she heard his familiar whistle. Her teeth clamped over her lower lip as she watched him undress, removing the black shorts he swam in. From behind, his buttocks were firm and she recalled with startling vividness, how they felt when she dug her nails into the flesh. Slinging a towel over his shoulder, Booth turned towards the showers. She stepped back, waiting until he was level with hers before reaching out and pulling him inside.

If it weren't for his complete nudity, Booth would have reached for his weapon. Her mouth found his in a hard, fierce kiss and he was startled. His lips parted to cry out and her tongue slipped inside, her hips grinding against his. "_Bones_?" he asked, pressing on her shoulders. "What the hell...?" she shushed him urgently, her blue eyes wild with something he hadn't seen before. "What are you _doing_?" As much as he tried to keep his focus – to regroup his thoughts – her proximity and her certain horniness were extraordinarily distracting. He could smell her perfume and his groin began to stir as she rotated her slender hips against his.

"Will you be _quiet_?" she almost snapped, her palms flat against his chest. Had she lost her mind, he wondered? Had she forgotten that they weren't on good terms? He couldn't resist her or the dark, undiluted desire in her eyes. His mouth found hers, his fingers curving around the soft, supple curve of her ass in the cotton skirt she wore. Booth held her close, his penis hardening almost achingly. "I was watching you," Brennan said against his lips in a ragged, breathless whisper. She tasted good, he thought. "Who was the woman?" Her neat nails dug into his backside, almost in punishment, and he hissed.

Woman? What was she talking about. "What woman?"

Her fingers relaxed and a feral smile spread across her features. God, she was truly wild. "Good answer," she chuckled, craning her neck to pass her lips across his again. He was receptive, drawing his arms around her body and urging her closer. The heat in his groin stepped up a notch as her cool hand slipped between their bodies and caressed his penis with infuriating tenderness. He winced, jerking into her touch. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't been missing her body during their spat. Last night he'd fantasised about her supple breasts, her hard nipples straining against that black lacy bra she owned.

She looked no les divine in reality, either. The sleeveless yellow top she wore hung close to her curves, flaunting the shapely curve of her waist and her full, round breasts. As she stepped back he traced his thumbs over the turgid outline of her nipples, watching as she bit her lower lip in a futile attempt to control her arousal. "Did you come here to talk?" he asked, pinching her left nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Her palms flattened against the side wall and her eyelids closed over her desire-laden irises whose colouring was now a dark, smoky blue.

"I did," she whimpered breathlessly, "but forget that." As much as he was curious about what she had to come to say, her flushed cheeks and obvious arousal proved too distracting. When she opened her eyes again she levelled her gaze on his penis, wrapping her fingers around it and stroking firmly upward. He winced, bracing his hands on her slender shoulders. He'd sworn not to get into this situation with her again – at least not until they had come to a proper resolution about their relationship but _God _almighty, she was the sexiest and most liberated woman he'd ever known. And she drove him wild.

Slipping his hand under her top, Booth massaged her breast, the soft flesh moulding easily to the shape of his palm. Her nipple was a tight nub beneath his touch and she whimpered encouragement, gripping him harder. Outside a locker slammed shut and they leapt apart, eyes wide. Brennan recovered quickly, moving towards him with sharp determination. Whoever was out there could remain so because behind this curtain _she_ was getting what she wanted.

Her kiss was fierce, muffling the sound of his surprise at her brazenness. His fingers laced into her hair, noting the damp strands of the incessant dripping of the showerhead. Booth sighed against her lips, hooking her thighs with his arms. Her legs folded deftly around his waist, her back pressed against the wall. Looking down at him, she was crazed with desire and he was shocked – and delighted – to find that beneath her cotton skirt she was naked. She was wet, her damp curls rubbing against his penis as she enthusiastically ground her hips.

"Now!" she mouthed, tilting her body. He slid into her easily, her muscles like liquid as she accepted him. His jaw tightened at the level of her arousal as he thrust into her, burying himself to the hilt. Her chest rose as she struggled to remain silent. Somewhere beyond the curtain someone was taking a shower, the pipes creaking nosily. Booth shifted inside her, moving slow a first as if to savour being inside her. He had to have her for keeps – being with her was just too good.

"Bones," he whispered, leaning into her ear. She grunted softly, tightening her muscles around his penis. Her body trembled in his arms. The other man was whistling now, a tuneless melody that rose over the sound of the falling water and pipes. "You know how I feel about you, right?" He hoped she truly did because he'd been trying hard to make her see that there was more than sex between them. However spectacular it was to make love to her – fuck her – whatever. She slid her fingers into his hair, kissing him hard.

"I do..." she whispered back, rocking her hips. With each moment he rubbed her clitoris and sparks of pleasure rolled through her body. He held her tight, thrusting her into abandon. "Booth..." she whimpered nosily. Moments later, the noise from the neighbouring shower ceased. Two more thrusts and she was coming, he following behind. Their orgasms were noiseless, eyes fused as only their gazes could adequately relate the intensity of pleasure that their voices could not. Her womb contracted around him as he came hard.

He held her for a long time afterwards, stroking her dampened hair. Her legs slackened around him but she was unsteady as she put her feet on the floor. Pursing her lips together, Brennan tried hard to regain control of her breathing, worried now that she might get caught here. A blush crept to her cheeks as she recalled her uncontrollable horniness – something she hadn't been familiar with until she'd been with Booth.

Coyly she met his gaze. "I guess we need to talk?" she said. He slung the towel over his shoulder again.

"We do," he agreed. "How about you see if you can sneak outside again and I'll get dressed? I'll take you for dinner." She smiled smoothing her skirt over her thighs. Sneaking out probably wouldn't be as easy as sneaking in. Still, the risk had been more than worth it.

"Sounds good to me," she replied, slipping out from behind the curtain.

-End-

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